


A Rarity Otherwise Unknown

by janetcarter



Category: His Dark Materials (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pregnancy, baby lyra - Freeform, canon typical misogyny kinda sorta, deadbeat dad asriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27904204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janetcarter/pseuds/janetcarter
Summary: One person was kind to Marisa Coulter in a world of selfishness and deceit.
Relationships: Lord Asriel/Marisa Coulter, Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter, Marisa Coulter & Thorold
Comments: 13
Kudos: 62





	A Rarity Otherwise Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](https://theideaofnorth.tumblr.com/post/634936498933940224/episode-2-spoilersish-do-you-think) on Tumblr.

It was Thorold, not Asriel, that knocked on her door at the end of their expedition. The servant hadn't had a moment to inform her, because Thorold's "Marisa!" boomed all the way to her room. She had been resting in the dark trying to rid herself of her headache, but his voice decimated any progress she might have made.

She stood as fast as she could, triggering a dizziness that threatened to shove her to the floor. Her daemon jumped up, but could only frantically look down the hallway while waiting for her to make her way to him.

Why the hell was Thorold here? Surely even _he_ knew better than to put her and Asriel's affair on full display. Women didn't have friends who were not other women and Thorold was certainly not in such category.

She stumbled down the hall until somewhat finding her footing, and placed one hand heavily against the fancy rail of the stairwell. The other rested on her abdomen, which still hardly looked to be with child. It was a performative habit.

"Marisa!" he shouted again, broadly waving. He stood at the bottom where the wine-red rug of the stairs spilled into the foyer. Except, he stood just beside it, muddy boots dirtying the gleaming tiles where she and Edward hosted balls.

Perhaps it was for the best he showed up now and not during one such occasion. Looking at the mud he had tracked in, Marisa could only be relieved she had secured a marriage instead of the maid's occupation. But even in such a position she was constantly cleaning up after men; particularly messes that jeopardized the aforementioned marriage.

"Thorold, thank you for coming," she said sweetly, and loudly so the servant who greeted him could hear. "I know you wanted to discuss funding with Edward, but sadly he isn't home at the moment."

He furrowed his brow, mouth about to spill all her secrets until she glared at him with a sharpness that could cut through the mountain he and Asriel scaled. A very obvious look of understanding finally reshaped his oblivious comfort. "Yes, that is why I visited! Is he… uh, coming back anytime soon?"

"He's away for the week, but I would hate to send you away empty-handed." She called for one of her somewhat trusted servants, a ginger girl with curly hair beneath her bonnet. "Please, Lilah, prepare some tea for me and our guest."

Thorold gave two thumbs up once they were alone. Marisa could only roll her eyes.

When she began down the stairs, Thorold and his muddy boots bolted up them. She couldn't even beg him to stay where he was, because he was at her side before she could explain the mess he was making.

Thorold took her arm, surprisingly gently given his usual demeanor, and she finally understood what he was trying to do.

Despite the light-headedness as of late, she was not weak. She was not fragile, or overly emotional, or any of the things people _already_ thought she was for simply being a woman. She certainly did not need men telling her those assumptions were true because she was to be a mother.

"Please, Thorold, I'm pregnant, not paralyzed." She said it in a voice that was far sweeter than she felt like being, but her monkey's expression gave away the scowl beneath. "You need not coddle me."

His daemon, a dog, was all too close to hers. Its tongue hung lopsided from its mouth as it panted and excitedly jumped around.

"Oh, sorry! Sorry." He and his daemon both distanced themselves, but he kept looking back to make sure she wasn't in need of a man's arms to catch her should she trip and fall down stairs she had walked hundreds of times before.

He spoke of he and Asriel's expedition as she guided him to the garden; such snowy wonders, such cultural grandeur, all of which she would never herself see. Asriel claimed she was as beautiful as the auroras, but surely he would have been the one to visit had such a compliment been true. She clawed at her own palm, daemon too far to pinch.

Of course, once they arrived at the small table Lilah had set, Thorold could not resist pushing Marisa's chair in for her.

"So, what is it you barged into my home for, nearly shattering an already fragile situation?" She took a sip of tea, the warmth of which momentarily distracted her from her annoyance.

His posture stiffened, the full realization finally hitting him. "Oh, sorry, I… I don't suppose I was thinking."

She sighed. "Did Asriel send you?"

"No," he said, but his eyes widened. "Well, uh, I mean--"

"We both know he didn't, then." She felt foolishly disappointed. It suppressed the need to ask about him, however, which would only inflate his already swollen ego should Thorold tell him she inquired. "So why _are_ you here?"

Thorold pat his pockets. "Got a present for you and the little one from up north."

Marisa squinted. "You what?"

"Nothing much," he admitted, finally finding what he was looking for. He dropped a little brown pouch on the table. "But the woman said it helped with nausea, so I thought I might as well take it off her hands."

Had he really done this for her?

"Oh, don’t tell me, Asriel send you to poison me?" She said it lightly, passing it off as a joke for Thorold's innocent red ears, but she would not put it past Asriel to destroy the problem at its source.

Thorold laughed freely. His daemon wagged its tail. "Naw, he'd never."

So Thorold was still under his spell, then.

She hesitantly picked up the pouch by the strings and loosened it. She didn't have to lean in to be able to sniff it, a familiar earthy aroma finding her nostrils immediately. "Kezrin?"

"That's the one! So was she right?"

Marisa bit her lip, not quite sure what to do with the way her heart felt. "She was. Thank you, Thorold. That was rather sweet."

Thankfully, a feeling of betrayal, or something like it, crushed the odd warmth in her chest. It should have been Asriel who visited her, who brought her herbs for symptoms he was the one who caused. Yet it was his lackey who had done so all on his own and Asriel was nowhere to be seen.

"Just hope it helps. So," he leaned in, whispering loud for a whisper. "How is the baby, anyhow?"

"Asriel knows how to contact me. If he finds the time to care, he can ask me himself."

He cleared his throat. "I was asking because I wanted to know."

"Oh." That was all _anyone_ seemed to want to know, but Thorold had been nicer to her than he needed to be, and he never seemed to have an ulterior motive. If he did, he would be disastrous at hiding it. His concern was odd, truly, but not so odd she couldn't indulge him.

"I mean, I'm sure Asriel does, too, and I can pass the news along, but--"

"No need." With a hand stroking her abdomen, which was only slightly distended in her fourth month, she answered. "Well, to be perfectly honest the nausea has mostly subsided."

"Oh."

"But I'm sure I will find some use for your gift. After all, Kezrin is known to help headaches as well, which have been another problem as of late." He did not pick up on the subtle request for him to speak quietly for once in his life, so she shifted subjects. He no doubt desired to hear about the baby more than anything. "The doctor says the child is growing well. Its heartbeat is strong. By all accounts, everything is fine."

"Such great news!" He beamed and _clapped,_ which caused her to wince. He finally seemed to notice this time, almost speaking in a tone she would classify as quiet. "Sorry, sorry. Good thing for the Kezrin then, eh?"

He blathered on, leaving her to smile and nod along to his excited remarks. Maybe, even with her own tumultuous circumstances, she would feel a touch less miserable if Asriel himself felt even a fraction of such enthusiasm.

-

It was in her eighth month that Thorold found his way to her once again. This time, he had at least _tried_ to be subtle. He had sent her a parcel, which, in Marisa's opinion, was really the opposite of subtle. It was physical evidence that traveled through multiple hands before finally making its way to her own. It was a miracle Edward had not been home when it arrived. But with the way she felt, so sore and huge, she was decidedly not in the mood for physical company anyway.

She sat at the edge of her and Edward's bed and tore open the oversized envelope open with her teeth. The proper envelope opener was across the room and really, in her state, she just wanted efficiency without having to stand.

Inside the package was green; thick, green cloth. A small blanket, she realized, as it hung between her hands. It must have been for the baby. Thorold was thoughtful; more so than Asriel, which was something his frequent absence during her pregnancy brought to light. But she was relieved she did not have to feign gratefulness to Thorold's face. It was kind of him, but she had no need for it. Edward's salary afforded far better.

Still, when she reached for the letter that had fallen out of the package, her daemon curled up on the blanket's wool.

_Dear Marisa,_

_From our time in Ajerheim. The blanket is for the baby. Very soft and warm!_

She supposed this was another positive to his letters: none of his blathering. Ink was likely in short supply, or maybe he was too busy adventuring with Asriel to use proper grammar. Still, it was more attention than Asriel had spared her.

_And the necklace is yours. I know it does not suit your usual gems and silk. But you need not wear it. Think of it as a souvenir! It is the tusk of an Albin walrus, a small thing, but mighty._

_Thorold_

Brow furrowed, she held the envelope upside down and, as he said, a necklace hit the bed. As he had also said, it certainly was not to her tastes. A tan, speckled tusk hung at the end of a brown leather string, flanked by several garish beads.

She did not realize until the necklace began to blur that she was crying. It was ridiculous, really, for her heart to swell at such a thing. It was _hideous_ , but…

Thorold gave her a kindness she certainly did not know from Asriel or her own husband. Edward cared only to parade her around at galas. Other wives in her circle fawned over her bloated stomach, speaking to Marisa herself only about the child within. Asriel hadn't written; obviously he would not have, it would be evidence of their affair. But he also hardly visited even when his schedule permitted.

She and their child simply did not exist in his mind when he was not looking right at her.

The baby kicked, taking her attention away from the letter. She smoothed out her dress over her stomach. She was not one to talk to her unborn child; after all, fetuses cannot respond. But a small part of her hoped that the child knew, out there somewhere, someone was thinking of them.

She held the tusk in her free hand, daemon eyeing it curiously. It was not something she should keep, all things considered. Where else would she have gotten such a thing if not from an explorer?

But she supposed, just until Edward came home from his latest business trip, she could keep it close.

-

The baby was here. She--a girl, of course, because sin bred disadvantage--nursed as Marisa awkwardly held her tiny form. The child's own daemon, a small kitten at the moment, had long since fallen asleep. It left the monkey free to try sneaking any glance he could at the child itself.

It was just the four of them now, because she had practically shoved the midwife out of the room at the first possible chance. That, and because Edward could not be bothered to be home for his own child's birth. She was thankful for it, however, because this was not his child and one glance at her features would tell him so. From the tip of her nose to the shape of her eyes, this was Asriel's daughter through and through.

She always knew, deep down, that this would be where they separated. Edward could only raise another man's child for so long. But actually facing the fact there would be no life for the two of them together, without having to sneak off to Asriel's estate in a constant tumult of paranoia, caused her heart to hurt worse than the rest of her body. It was a byproduct of the emotional overflow of pregnancy, no doubt, so she could not allow herself to think on it too hard. She instead tried to be relieved, because a life dedicated to motherhood was a life she had spent nearly the entire year past dreading.

Everything ached, she was exhausted, and yet she could not sleep. She was too busy waiting.

She had sent word to Asriel that the baby was coming. It was only a matter of time until he took her. Edward would be home soon--maybe even sooner should someone tell him the child arrived a week early--and so every second she held this child in her arms was another chance for her entire world to shatter.

The baby detached, leaving Marisa wincing. But she managed to stand, to find the green blanket Thorold had sent, and to wrap her in its warmth as though it would make up for Marisa's own absent embrace.

Before she knew it, one of the only servants she trusted knocked at the door. "Madame?"

"He's here," Marisa stated. Lilah reached out to take the child but Marisa did not let go. "I will take her myself."

"But you--"

"I am _fine_." The tremble in her voice was undeniable, but her expression demanded compliance. "You are to stand watch and make sure the others do not see."

Lilah worriedly looked down at the child, then back up to Marisa who no doubt looked as horrific as she felt. "Very well. He is in the garden behind the East Wing."

Strangely considerate to choose the door closest to where her own room was, even if it meant limping down a stairwell after just giving birth. It all made sense when she opened the door to find Thorold, not Asriel, waiting for her.

"Thorold?"

He gasped. "Little one!"

"Lower your voice," she hissed, causing the baby to briefly whine. She closed the door behind her once her daemon slipped through, the child's daemon on his back. Although the child was now silent, the moment it cried it would wake up the whole mansion. She had to be quick.

And yet she felt as though nothing had changed, as though she and the child were inseparable.

"Marisa?"

She was crying, and it was not the first time tears had spilled onto her cheeks this evening. If not for the difficulty of holding the child, she would have pulled at her daemon's fur. All she was doing was proving to the world that it was right, that women were weak and fragile and destined only to nurture. "Take her."

His daemon nudged her leg. "Marisa, I… I'm sure everything will be okay."

"Please," she said, because no matter how hard she tried, she could not make herself move. "Take her and go. Before she cries and alerts everyone to your presence."

He swallowed and nodded, blinking as though holding back tears himself. "If there is ever anything you need…"

She closed her eyes and looked away, as though waiting to be slapped, when he finally scooped the baby out of her arms.

The baby wailed. He stayed for a moment and rocked her, as though to give Marisa one last glance, as though this child was something she could _love_ rather than a symbol of her own shortcomings. But soon, when his hushing and bouncing did not quell her cries, and when Marisa did nothing more than stare teary-eyed through a failing mask, he hurried away.

As much as her body demanded she lie down, Marisa's legs were practically made from the same stone as the statues around her. And so she and her daemon stood in the dark, listening to the child's cries get quieter and quieter until the night consumed the sound.

Although she dared not admit it, she felt emptier than the silent, starless sky above. 


End file.
